You cant tell a rosemary sprig from a parsley sprig unless you read the label! And the berries? Youve only ever seen them in jam! snapped the offended neighbour, Mrs. Whitaker, her voice trembling with indignation.
Evelyn and Arthur had driven out to their country cottage in the Cotswolds. Theyd bought it in the autumn, and now, with winter looming, they were determined to set things right. The house was charming enough to live in through the frost, but the garden and the outbuildings were a tangled mess.
The overgrown orchard needed a miracle. A brandnew sauna had been ordered; it would arrive in a week, ready to be installed, once they chose a proper spot.
At the same time they planned a leanto for laundry, a woodstore, and a summer gazebo. Their grandchildren had promised to come and lend a hand with everything.
Its peaceful here, we could live out the year. Were retirees now, after all, Arthur said, eyeing the cracked porch.
Ive inspected the cellar; only the front door needs replacing, Evelyn replied, wiping the dust from an old sill.
Ive checked the back verandah. Remember our talk about the gazebo? Its not needed. The verandah already has a large round table and a set of antique chairs.
Those chairs just need a good polishing and theyll last another hundred years. From there well have a view over the garden, a place for tea and quiet contemplation. The back door also needs a new frame; it feels as if someone has been in the house recently, even in winter.
Exactly. The doors are first priority. Well do all the work in the rear yard, out of sight from the road, so it looks tidy. In front of the house well plant a lawn and a flower border.
The flower beds are already there, with perennials that have settled in. Well just have to decide which to move where, perhaps transplant a few. Lets leave it as it is for this summer.
A week later the sauna arrived, and the grandchildren showed up, ready to start the makeover. Work began in earnest. Mrs. Whitaker stopped by to introduce herself, her grandchildren darting around the cottage like restless sparrows.
Do you have grandchildren? she asked, a hint of curiosity in her tone.
Yes, theyll be arriving soon, Evelyn answered.
Why that massive fence youre putting up? Weve always gone without any boundary at all.
Without any fence? What was there before? We just took down the old one; it had collapsed. It didnt bother you, but we need order. Dont worry, we havent taken any of your land. The fence sits exactly on our plot line.
No gate, then? Weve always had a way through.
Between us? No, that isnt planned. Access will be from the road only.
What about the children, yours or ours? I saw you cut down the apple trees; the kids loved climbing them.
We didnt cut them down, we pruned and cleared them, and weve planted new saplings. Let your children scramble up your own apple trees.
Everythings new with you. Why the hedges along our side of the fence?
For a little privacy, for looks.
Mrs. Whitaker left, but she returned later with more questions. Her grandchildren kept racing across Evelyns and Arthurs plot until the new gate was finally installed.
Youve settled in nicely, the neighbour said again, her voice softer. Will you be living here through the winter?
Time will tell, Arthur answered, eyes fixed on the horizon.
Why close the gate? The kids used to play ball right in front of the house, away from traffic, a safe spot.
My garden beds are already packed, unlike yours. You only differentiate rosemary from parsley by the shop label, and youve only ever tasted berries in jam. You should befriend me.
The gate is shut to keep prying eyes out, and so your grandchildren dont turn the place into a playground. Two days ago they let our chickens out; we still havent found a single one.
You keep chickens too? So youre really planning to stay?
We already are.
At the end of August they celebrated Arthurs birthday. The children arrived, along with Mrs. Whitakers grandchildren. The whole family gathered around the verandah; men turned over steaks on the grill, women tossed salads and set the table.
Here we are, popping over to say hello, neighbourstyle, as we always do, no invitation needed. Were neighbours, after all. The kids know the routine by sunrise.
Youre preparing the feast, the guests are here, so lets sit down. Everyone will have more fun together. Its high time we became friends.
It seems we never invited you. This is a family celebration, not a neighbourly one. Our relationship is that of neighbours, not kin.
Perhaps someday itll change. The kids will grow up. Maybe well be family, the neighbour replied with a forced smile.
She kept muttering, never quite leaving, while her grandchildren scrambled everywhereshaking apple trees, climbing pear branches, even clambering onto the sauna roof, luckily not falling.
Soon a pile of stones set around the garden attracted the kids; some started flinging them into the inflatable pool. No one noticed at first. When the water burst out, the children shrieked with delight.
Soon itll be autumn, time to pack away the pool, Mrs. Whitaker said, watching the chaos. The kids have had enough fun.
You all need to go home!
We havent even sat down yet; the children are starving. Lets all rush to the table!
The celebration fell apart, but another would come. A week later the grandchildren returned for another gathering, marking thirtyfive years of Evelyn and Arthurs marriage.
Someone had the bright idea to lock the gate, later revealed to be the youngest, their sevenyearold grandson.
The sound of someone knocking on the gate echoed through the yard. The family pretended nothing was happening as the smell of grilled kebabs mixed with fresh country air.
When will you be back in town?
Well think about it. Autumn is coming; well harvest the apples first. This years crop is superb. We love everything here, except perhaps Mrs. Whitaker, but shes no obstacle. Weve learned how to get by without her.
Everyone laughed together.
The guests drifted away, leaving Evelyn and Arthur alone. Autumn lay ahead, then winter They would try their best, and if it failed, they could always return to their flat in London.
Mrs. Whitaker eventually drove off, explaining she had to get her grandchildren to school. Her daughter was struggling, and the grandmother would help. Arthur and Evelyn sighed in relief. God grant us neighbours less meddlesome than that, Arthur muttered.
What do you think of all this? a voice urged in the distance.
Like and comment if you feel the same, the unseen narrator seemed to whisper.
